Judge Gillespie tells a good story, to the effect that Lincoln and General U.P.  Linder were once defending a man who was being tried on a criminal charge before Judge David Davis, who said at dinner-time that the case must be disposed of that night.  Lincoln suggested that the best thing they could do would be to run Benedict, the prosecuting attorney, as far into the night as possible, in hopes that he might, in his rage, commit some indiscretion that would help their case.  Lincoln began, but to save his life he could not speak one hour, and the laboring oar fell into Linder’s hands.  “But,” said Lincoln, “he was equal to the occasion.  He spoke most interestingly three mortal hours, about everything in the world.  He discussed Benedict from head to foot, and put in about three-quarters of an hour on the subject of Benedict’s whiskers.”  Lincoln said he never envied a man so much as he did Linder on that occasion.  He thought he was inimitable in his capacity to talk interestingly about everything and nothing, by the hour.

But if Lincoln had not General Linder’s art of “talking against time,” his wit often suggested some readier method of gaining advantage in a case.  On one occasion, a suit was on trial in the Circuit Court of Sangamon County, in which Lincoln was attorney for the plaintiff, and Mr. James C. Conkling, then a young man just entering practice, was attorney for the defendant.  It was a jury trial, and Lincoln waived the opening argument to the jury, leaving Mr. Conkling to sum up his case for the defense.  The latter spoke at considerable length, in a sophomoric style, laboring under the impression that unless he made an extraordinary exertion to influence the jury he would be quite eclipsed by Lincoln in his closing speech.  But he was completely taken back by the unlooked-for light manner in which Lincoln treated the case in his closing.  Lincoln proceeded to reply but, in doing so he talked on without making the slightest reference to the case on hearing or to the argument of Mr. Conkling.  His summing-up to the jury was to the following effect:  “Gentlemen of the jury:  In early days there lived in this vicinity, over on the Sangamon river, an old Indian of the Kickapoo tribe by the name of Johnnie Kongapod.  He had been taken in charge by some good missionaries, converted to Christianity, and educated to such extent that he could read and write.  He took a great fancy to poetry and became somewhat of a poet himself.  His desire was that after his death there should be placed at the head of his grave an epitaph, which he prepared himself, in rhyme, in the following words: 

     “’Here lies poor Johnnie Kongapod;
       Have mercy on him, gracious God,
       As he would do if he were God
       And you were Johnnie Kongapod.’”

Of course all this had no reference to the case, nor did Lincoln intend it should have any.  It was merely his way of ridiculing the eloquence of his opponent.  The verdict of the jury was for the plaintiff, as Lincoln expected it would be; and this was the reason of his treating the case as he did.